In The Scheme of Things
by Get Real Or Die
Summary: It started out as a plan. Oneshot.


Pairing: Lita/Randy Orton

Summary: It started out as a plan

Rating: PG for some cursing

Spoilers: None that I can see, but possibly Jeff Hardy having the I.C belt. Also, Candice Michelle won the tournament and Cyber Sunday wasn't factored into the story, so it doesn't exist

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters mentioned. They belong to Vince McMahon and the rest of his family

I'm supposed to tell you it's alright but I just sit in the passenger side as you accelerate pass the speed limit another 10 miles. What would you do if I admitted that I didn't know what to say or to do? That all I knew was that I wasn't going down that road again? That I enjoyed the kiss you gave me. It wasn't supposed to be like this. All I wanted was to train you so you could know every move Jeff Hardy makes in the ring. I wanted you to take the Intercontinental Championship from him while I stood at ringside or in Edge's locker room watching on the monitor. Hell, I just wanted some of my own back. Is it my fault that I tried to get it through you? For a whole month I traveled with you. From St. Louis to house shows, we were inseparable. The sun was shining down on me because Edge was too busy concentrating on his title shots and title matches again to give a rat's ass about me going to the mid west instead of all the way back to North Carolina. I saw your home and I met your mother. I slept in your spare bed as I concentrated on the unfamiliar sounds outside of my window. We got to know each other as you showed me your old stomping grounds. I found out who the Legend Killer was back when he was just Randy Orton.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't have fun. Getting into the ring to show someone strategy on someone else's moves was a dream come true. And even after all this time, no one knew Jeff Hardy like me. I could tell you what moves to do and when. I could tell you how to do them and when to pause for the most impact. I did but I also did more than that. I showed you moves of yesteryear. From moonsaults to Swanton Bombs; you got a run down of all the moves of Team Extreme's past. Part of it was nostalgia while there was another small, vindictive part of me that wanted to see the bafflement on Hardy's face as you countered all the moves I helped him perfect so many years ago. You were ready and your title match was to be the main event on RAW. I had helped you as much as I could and I knew without a doubt that Jeff Hardy was no longer a wildcard in your mind.

Assurances aside, the match was good. You went out there with your patented cocky smirk and as far as I'm concerned, you showed everyone out there why you deserved to wear it. Hardy was a man of the old school; those days when ECW was still gathering dust and Invasion was the biggest thing on people's minds. You had no right (as far as anyone in the building was concerned) beating this man; besting him. Yet you did it anyway. Every move was countered; every Swanton Bomb landed on the canvas. There was nothing for him to do that you couldn't undo. I watched with a growing amount of members of the roster from guerilla position as a smile crept onto my face. Suddenly, I knew how it was going to end. I just didn't know how you were going to end it.

I'm glad I didn't. As you proceeded to wear him down, I knew you were planning on going for the pin. I watched as another failed Swanton Bomb landed him on the mat at your feet. I watched as you suddenly bounded to the top rope. While the announcers and the rest of the roster were muttering, (Randy Orton doesn't do high-flying moves!) I watched as you waited for Hardy to get up and then landed the newest variation of your finishing move. The flying R.K.O. While the whole arena was abuzz about this newest development, you went back to the top rope and did something even I couldn't have hoped to predict. It was amazing and it left no doubt for anyone that I was where your new moves came from; that I was where your insight into Jeff Hardy came from. As Hardy lay flat on his back, unable to move as you finished him off... you did a Litasault. I honestly couldn't believe it. How long had it been since anyone had actually seen a Litasault? Three years and then wham. Cocky legend killing bastard brings it back with a vengeance.

My mouth dropped open as you got the pin. Not only were the announcers speculating on what this new development meant, not only was Jeff Hardy watching you walk off with the I.C belt full of understanding of how and why this happened, and not only were the members of the roster staring at me in incredulity but you came to the back and strolled right up to me. You looked at me as you held your new title belt on your shoulder and asked in a muted voice, "How did I do?" The flood dams were broken. As the rest of the roster watched on, I started babblingly praising you on your win full of hand gestures and sound effects. It had been a while since I was so excited but even Torrie Wilson remembered from her days as a W.C.W Nitro girl how...animated I got when I had a good reason. You just stood there and smiled down at me full of patience and amusement. We walked around that whole arena as you explained to me why it wasn't actually an R.K.O because you used the same clutch as a stunner because the R.K.O would probably injure someone's neck from that high up. Waiting until the arena was empty as we ignored the superstars and backstage personnel, we walked around recounting the match. You smiled a serene grin and that was when I realized that maybe you weren't as cocky as you were when you first entered the business. Maybe that's just how they continued to portray you so you went along with the program. All I know is as we walked back down to the ramp of the empty arena, I realized you deserved that belt. Even if I helped you to get it, you deserved that belt.

We made our way to the ring and you sat on the middle rope so that I had an opening to get in. As you got in, I looked around the empty arena. You stood next to me and surveyed it as well. I looked up at you. "How does it feel?" You look at me sideways. "How does what feel?" I shrug. "Being the Intercontinental Champion." He looks at me before breaking my gaze and looking at his new title belt. "I should be thanking you shouldn't I? I doubt my title match would have gone so well if not for the hours you spent putting me through my paces." I feel flattered but not as flattered as I would feel if I didn't notice that you were avoiding my question. "How does it feel Ort... Randy?" He looks back at me. "It feels good." I snort under my breath. "I bet it does, but it's not the belt you really want is it?" Orton stiffens as I turn 100 of my focus onto him. "What do you mean?" I shrug once more as I look away from his questioning gaze and out into the stands. "The Heavyweight Title's calling your name isn't it? I know the look and I see it in you. The question is: why haven't you gone for it?" This time, he's the one to look away. "Because I wanted to take the Intercontinental belt out from Johnny Nitro and Carlito's nose. The fact that I won it off Jeff Hardy is one of life's pleasant bonuses." As I raise an eyebrow at him, he taps himself on the shoulder. "I'm the Legend Killer. He's a legend. My mistake with Hogan was spending so much time and effort into destroying his fan base. It wasn't going to happen and I should have just went for the win on my scorecard. You can guarantee I won't be making that mistake again." I recoil from the scowl on your face. I should have realized that your fight with Hogan left scars no one else could see. As a child, men like him were pointed out as an example for you to emulate. It would be inevitable for you to decide that you wouldn't try to be them; you would destroy them. And try as you did, you couldn't destroy Hulk Hogan. He got the win at Summerslam and he got to go home into retirement once more in his fabulous house while you traveled the road trying as hard as you could to do whatever it is you're trying to do. For the first time since we entered a ring together, I wondered what was under the facade of Randy Orton.

I grab his arm so he could look at me instead of scowl into the distance. "Hey." I snap my fingers and your eyes laser onto my face. I speak deliberately. "You did good tonight. Not only did you beat Jeff Hardy, innovator of the TLC match and the six person intergender tag match..." I couldn't help but grimace at the words coming out of my mouth true though they were. "but you now have a title that at least five other men on the roster want for themselves. Plus...you did me a solid out here tonight using the Litasault." He looks a bit less melancholy as he nods. "I thought it would be fitting considering who helped me for the past month." I nod. "Now Hardy knows that. I gotta tell you; I really like being the salt in his wound." Orton's looking at me appraisingly. "I bet you do." I duck his knowing gaze and I walk over to a turnbuckle. Hoisting myself up so I can take a seat, I think to myself that you think you know why. Only two people in the world know what the last conversation Jeff Hardy and I had together contained; the words, expletives, the kiss, and the tears. Only two people and as I look at you, I realize that it will never become three. I don't have to tell you why but I should say something so you never have an idea how close you are to being chopped in the throat. "You'd win that bet."

You walk over to where I am and step between my legs, creating a wall between you and the turnbuckle as you surround me. Your title belt presses into my knee and you're making me nervous, but I refuse to show it. As you look at me, your mouth twists up into a parody of a smile. "Why did you train me this past month Lita? Was it just so I could do your dirty work and take down Jeff Hardy?" I look at you unimpressed. I don't care what you think and that's what you don't know. No one needs to know why I helped you, including you. As long as Jeff Hardy knew. I laugh a breathless, mirthless laugh before I become serious. "You're asking the wrong questions Orton. You're asking why I chose you when you should ask yourself why not. Randy Orton the Legend Killer." I lean forward, suddenly unafraid of him standing so close to me. "When it comes right down to it, I said it before and I'll say it again: I don't team up with just anyone. You had the potential to do what I wanted you to. It was just one of life's 'pleasant bonuses' that you wanted the same thing also." You're watching me with an inscrutable look on your face and it catches me by surprise when you kiss me.

Almost automatically, I reel back from the onslaught of your lips on mine but you pull me back. I relax into your grip even as I tell myself it's because I don't want to fall off the turnbuckle. Your mouth is warm against mine and as I get a glimpse of sanity, I break away from the kiss completely. You back up immediately and as soon as I have the space to do so, I clear the ring. Refusing to look back as I ignore your queries, I walk out of the ring area. Only when I can be assured that there's no way you can see me do I touch my lips. Only because I'm sure this is the point where I'm supposed to storm out full of indignation do I walk to your rental car. I can't leave anyway. We rode to the arena together. As I lean against the passenger side and wait for you to come to the empty parking lot, I wish you didn't do that. A month ago, I only wanted you near me because of the high possibility that you could take away Hardy's belt at my direction. Never did I imagine that I would actually start to enjoy your company. Before that month, I spent most of my days beside house shows alone or with Edge planning another way to screw John Cena out of his beloved title. For the past month (barring nights, some of the time) I actually spent time with another person who's mission wasn't to degrade me or call me foul names pertaining to a situation that they knew nothing about. I treaded around St. Louis with you and somehow, I actually figured out that you weren't a bad person. From nights under the Missouri stars to days running miles together, I realized you were a decent wrestler and somehow, an even better person.

As you walk out with your hands in your pockets and with a surprised expression at the sight of me, I decide it doesn't matter. No one gave a damn about me and whether you were only pretending to or not led to dangerous stomping grounds. I had already been damned and labeled as a whore in the grand tradition. I was determined it wouldn't happen twice. I watched as you got into the car silently and got in when you opened the door for me. Now here we are as you speed down deserted streets and I only want to know one thing. I turn my head and look at you, regardless of the fact that you're still speeding. "Why?" You simply look at me and grip the steering wheel tighter. As an irrational anger fills me, I jerk the steering wheel out of your hands at the same time as I step on the foot that's on the brake. There are a few scary moments where I'm sure we're going to tip over, but the vehicle lands on all fours. You look at me as if I'm nuts but I don't give a shit because I'm sick of people ignoring me.

I look straight ahead as my hands tremble partly from the adrenaline our brush with death gave us and partly because I'm this close to snapping your neck. "Don't ignore me Orton. I ask you a question and you fucking answer me. Get that? Because Matt Hardy ignored me when my neck was broken and I was laid out on my back and now he's on Smackdown pretending he gives a damn about the Cruiserweight title and fucking that wannabe Ashley Massaro between her injuries. Edge ignored me when I told him not to face Cena in a T.L.C match and now his record's fucked up while he struggles to get that goddamn belt back. Jeff Nero fucking Hardy ignored me when I tried to tell him that he was the only thing that mattered to me while I cried because he wouldn't say it would be okay and do you know where he is? I can damn near guarantee you that as we speak he's snorting a palmful of blow as he cries into his purple hair over losing that damn belt. That's three people that decided not to listen to me and guess where they are right now. Being second rate. Trish Stratus was right when she said I was a curse Orton. Only she didn't know it was intentional. That it was always intentional. Don't ignore me Orton because you have a bright career ahead of you. I'd sure hate to see it get snuffed out ahead of time." I say all of this with quiet deadly intent because it's true.

They all ignored me and even though the older Hardy was the worse of the offenders, Edge and Jeff Hardy got it as bad as I could give it to them. All they ever had to do was pretend they cared in lieu of actual caring and they couldn't even do that. None of them could and I always got comeuppance even at personal injury to me. Because while I was the company whore? Matt Hardy would always regard everyone around him with suspicion and distrust, never knowing that only the most devoted would take his paranoid scrutiny. Because while I took finishers? Edge was crippled with the biggest case of self doubt in wrestling history and only stoking the fires of a not quite all there Cena, which would be cultivated until the Boston wrestler snapped and put him on the shelf. Because while I was lonelier than I had ever been in my life? Jeff Hardy was trying to ignore me and now he couldn't so he was cursed with trying to super impose this image of a Lita who would train someone just to take his title over the image of the Lita that actually loved him more than anything else in the world. I would take all the insults, all the bumps, and all the nights of being alone because all they had to do was love me even though I wasn't perfect. That wasn't too much to ask considering once upon a time I had loved them all.

I'm sitting back in the passenger side, glaring darkly out the window. I'm jerked back towards him and I can admit that I'm actually scared of the look on his face. He looks tortured and angry and I really do hope he's taking heed of my words because if he puts a hand on me? All the subtlety goes out of the window and I cripple him for the rest of his life next week live on RAW. But he just speaks quietly even as he puts my face in a not quite bruising grip. "I kissed you because now that you've used me to get even with Jeff Hardy? I don't want to let you go. I watched you take finisher after finisher for Edge while you were the greatest asset he had. I watched while every one in the damn company took potshots at you for something that was none of their business even when you were the sweetest, most beautiful woman on the roster. I watched while you did all of those degrading stunts and sloppy open-mouthed kisses when you used to actually wrestle in main events for the women's title. I kissed you because even though your time is ending in the company I want you at my side and my side only for at least one match. I don't want you to interfere or take a bump; I just want you there because once upon a time? You used to be a great team player and if any of the people that once loved you even cared about it, they could see that you're still a good wrestler and a great manager. They want to be so fucking righteous? That's fine with me because their loss is my gain. I kissed you because while the rest of these myopic losers were congratulating Stratus on her 7th title win, I actually remembered that you are the only woman to came back from a broken neck and that if it wasn't for Invasion Stratus would still be a good dog barking at the feet of whoever had the most stroke in the company. You can pretend you planned the situations of those three losers but I know when it comes right down to it you're still just Lita from North Carolina who used to jump off ladders and wear thongs as she got slammed through tables. No amount of booing can ever make me forget that and that's more than you can say about anyone on any of the rosters. I kissed you because I'm Randy Orton and you're Lita and if you just renewed your fucking contract, we could run RAW." He unbuckles his seatbelt and exits the car.

I sit there stunned.

In One Week

During the pre show meeting, Shane McMahon will tell the Legend Killer that Jeff Hardy wants a rematch. The whole roster will look on as Orton walks over to you and holds a whispered conversation. You'll hold his gaze for a long moment before nodding. Orton will tell Hardy he accepts his challenge and you won't mind that it's still Edge that has his arm around your shoulder as you watch Orton walk back to the table he sat at. Later on in the night, you'll get Edge's permission to valet for Orton. You'll watch as he retains the title and for a change you won't get hurt or have to interfere. Randy Orton doesn't need your help even though he wants your presence and the joy you feel at the knowledge will take you by surprise. Later on after the show is over, it will hit you that it didn't matter that Jeff Hardy couldn't keep his eyes off of you the whole time you stood at ringside.

In Two Weeks

You'll sit holding your bruised jaw after a particularly brutal encounter with John Cena. As you watch Edge pace the floor before sitting on the bench in exhaustion, you can't help but think that you don't care about him anymore. Not even a little bit. All you will feel is an intense moment of grief over the fact that Edge was always particularly good at lying to himself. You'll kneel in front of him and clasp his hand as you hold what will be your last conversation with him for 6 months, 8 days, 2 hours, and 27 minutes. The last thing you say to him before you grab your wrestling gear is the truest thing you've ever known: "What makes a wrestler a champion isn't the presence of gold; it's the absence of fear." The last thing you say after you grab your gear but before you leave the locker room is all Edge ever needs to know: "If you want to be champion, be champion. But I'm through getting hurt so you can do it." You'll leave and it won't matter that you didn't say goodbye because chances are he was ignoring you anyway. What will shock you is how little that matters to you.

In Three Weeks

For once you won't be wearing black or a slutty shirt. In a white t-shirt, a pair of blue basketball shorts and some red Air Force Ones, you'll feel more comfortable than you have in the past year. You'll win the one house show match you have during the week and it won't matter that they still boo at you. In a week and a day, you'll be leaving behind a way of life that sustained you for more than seven years and all you can feel is a sharp sense of inevitability. You'll be on the card for a title match against newly crowned women's champion Candice Michelle. You'll burst out laughing when Shane McMahon tells you this and as the whole roster watches on in confusion, Randy Orton will join you in your laughter. You'll know with certainty that Orton knows why you're laughing. After all, isn't it hilarious that they finally give you a title shot the week before you leave? Especially since you don't particularly want it? And even as you pin Candice for the win, you can't bring yourself to touch the women's belt for a long amount of time. You'll be lucky that Orton is there to take it from you before you can chuck it into the crowd. He'll drape your belt along with his on his shoulders and you'll walk out of the arena with him smiling at you. You'll be grinning back.

In Four Weeks

You'll be at Survivor Series and even though it's a joint paper view, you won't put any effort into making sure that you don't run into Matt Hardy. You'll sit in the meeting before the paperview starts with Randy Orton holding your hand under the table. When you're informed that your title match against Candice Michelle has been changed to a Fatal Four Way, you'll simply reminisce about the days when matches for paperviews were set weeks in advance even as you know the crowd will love the last minute change. After the meeting, Matt Hardy will shake your hand and tell you that you were the best intergender partner he ever had. There will be no doubt in your mind that he still hates you even as you hug him and tell him the only thing he ever wanted to hear from you. You'll say it even though it's no longer true: "I'll always love you Matt." You won't know that the next time you talk to him will be in 5 years when he tells you his dad died of a heart attack and Jeff's asking will you please come to the funeral. You don't know that you will hold his and Jeff's hand as the dirt hits the coffin of the best man you ever had the privilege of knowing. You don't know that it won't matter that you cheated or that you broke up the friendship because Matt and Jeff Hardy will need someone to care that they are the last Hardys standing and you were always the best at caring especially when it came to them. You don't know that it won't hurt for them as much when they have to go to the empty home they lived in as children just because you'll be going with them. You don't know that the wounds all three of you gave each other over the years will scab over once and for all and while Team Extreme will be forever gone, one day you'll be able to sit with them in a room and talk about why things happened the way they did and for once no one will storm out or burst into tears. You'll all make tentative reaches towards being friends again and when it's all said and done, you'll know it's good to be home. Now though, you hug Hardy even as you feel bored with his professionalism and amused at the glare Massaro's sending your way. You'll nod politely at him and walk over to a grinning Randy Orton. Massaro will corner you later and call you a slut and you'll laugh in her face because she will always want to be you. You don't know that one day you'll give a toast at her wedding and that you'll hold her hand as she gives Matt a daughter. You don't know that one day Massaro will ask for some help with her ring work and you won't be totally disgusted at the possibility of her holding the Women's title. You and Randy Orton will warm up together before your matches. You'll walk him to the curtain and give him a pep talk before his music hits and he bounds out to defend his title one on one against Jeff Hardy. You will walk away so you can finish preparing for your own match but you're at the curtain watching when Randy gets the pin. You'll walk back to his locker room with him, talking about his match. He'll turn to you and say: "Good luck on your match Lita." You'll say thank you and almost feel sorry about what you're going to do. You'll think it would have been interesting to hold a title while you retire. But you'll refuse to imitate anyone, especially Stratus.

Your opponents for The Fatal Four Way will be Victoria, Candice Michelle, and for some odd reason, Maria Kinellis. You'll walk out to the ring last and immediately start double teaming Candice Michelle with Victoria. You'll have one of the best matches of your post injury career and as you bound from top rope to canvas, you'll almost forget that you're supposed to be defending your title. Since all three have been wearing each other down, you won't be too distracted when you pause to use eenie-menie-minie-mo to decide who gets the title. As the referee and crowd watches on in confusion, you'll scrap the idea and just choose Maria. It'll be funnier to leave her women's champion as the WWE loses one of the best divas they ever had. Quickly, you'll throw a distracted Candice Michelle out of the ring with a livid Victoria on her heels. It'll be down to two, but on a moment of inspiration you'll whisper to Maria even as she tries to skitter away from you. The whole arena will watch as you converse with her and they will watch as she nods to you in shock. You'll run right into her clothesline and allow her to get the pin. As the new champion is crowned, you'll throw a mocking salute to a confused crowd and you'll walk out of your last paperview ever. You'll retire as a 4 time Women's Champion, innovator of the 6-person intergender tag match, and the only woman in the business to date to come back from a broken neck. You'll decide your record looks okay when it's all said and done. You'll walk the halls of the arena as people congratulate you and it won't matter because now you know exactly how fickle people really are. Randy Orton will be waiting for you at his locker room, clean and smelling good. After a shower, you'll pack up the last of your stuff and walk away from the best and worst job you ever had. You'll answer Randy's question of how does it feel with a question of your own: "You're standing with me aren't you? Then I have to say, it feels pretty damn good." And it will.

In About A Year

In a year, you'll decide to sell your house and move to a certain part of St. Louis. When your mom asks you why you're choosing to move, you'll simply tell her: "It's where I want to be." You won't be talking about the city. But in a little over six months from the day you decide to move, Randy Orton will meet your mother and she'll smile at you knowingly while he holds your hand. You'll smile back and decide to tell her he asked you to move in with him. You won't tell her about the engagement ring you know resides in his sock drawer, waiting for the right moment. And of course you won't tell him that whenever he asks, a yes is pretty much assured.

But For Now...

You sit there stunned as Randy Orton unbuckles his seatbelt and exits the rental car. He won't be back for twenty-five minutes, but you'll be asleep from pure exhaustion. Orton will carry you to your hotel room and tuck you in. He'll stay there beside you for the rest of the night. It'll be the best sleep you've ever gotten on the road and you won't know that if you just asked, he'll sit right there at your side every night. You'll know it eventually.


End file.
